


How Did I Forget Your Smile?

by Reddietolive



Category: IT 2017, IT- Stephen King
Genre: Angst, Canon!Eddie, Canon!Richie, Crushes, Eddie is a ghost, Fluff, M/M, Unrequited Love, ghost au, ghost!eddie, so uh, well sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-03
Updated: 2018-07-03
Packaged: 2019-06-01 19:06:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15149855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reddietolive/pseuds/Reddietolive
Summary: Richie Tozier is a successful comedian. It’s all he ever wanted. But there is a void, one he can’t fill no matter what he does. And he feels like he’s stuck. Eddie Kaspbrak is dead. That’s all he can say to describe it. But he was still stuck pining after an idiot. What was he supposed to do when Richie doesn’t even remember him?





	How Did I Forget Your Smile?

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this while listening to 2000’s music. So yeah.

Richie waved one last goodbye, “Thank you, Los Angeles! You’ve been...an audience!” And the crowd laughed again at that, even though it was a completely horrible joke.

He ran his long fingers through his messy hair. He probably needed a haircut, but he couldn’t be bothered. Some part of him felt the need to keep it that way.

He made his way backstage, and a water bottle soon ended up in his hand, it didn’t take long for him to drink most of the bottle, he didn’t even realize how thirsty he had been until now, but that was just the sign of being immersed in a show.

A few people would shout ‘hi!’ or ‘good show, Mr.Tozier’ to which Richie would always reply with ‘Mr.Tozier is my father, please, call me Richie,’ along with the lopsided smile that accompanied most of his responses. It was as much of an iconic part of his character as his harsh humor was.

Richie pushed the door of his dressing room open and practically collapsed into his chair, tonight had been particularly hilarious, though he could thank the government’s constant fuck ups for that. Ah the government, bad for stress levels but good for a few laughs if you pay enough attention.

Richie tapped his fingers on his denim clad knee restlessly, despite his tiring show, he still buzzed continuously with nervous energy that never seemed to leave him. But he was used to this. It had been this way as far back as he could remember (though it wasn’t really that far back. But he was pretty sure that was due to the inevitable concussions that his loudmouth earned him.)

Soon, Richie was okayed to go home, meaning that the audience had once again filtered out of the building, and his mind went on autopilot. He did the same thing every night, and he was just lucky that he didn’t get tired of it.

He found himself fidgeting with the buttons of his Hawaiian shirt, an orange one tonight, with pictures of green frogs decorating it. Like his nervous energy, Hawaiian shirts were something that he could just always remember wearing. Another thing that stuck with him throughout the years.

As it began to rain, he was thankful that something didn’t stay. His coke bottle glasses, with lenses that were thicker than his skull (depending on who you asked, that was an achievement), now replaced by contacts, were not missed at all.

He quickly got into the backseat of the Uber, and buckled himself in ‘he was a valuable asset’ he thought to himself. Now that was a funny joke.

As he stared out of the rain streaked window, at the bright lights of the city, he felt a mix of nostalgia and fear, rain always seemed to make him feel this way, though he could never pinpoint the memory, it was still there somewhere, and maybe one day while he lays in bed, it’ll come to him, and he’ll get to tell the story of how he unlocked the secret of his past like he was fucking Anastasia or something.

Richie had a tendency to zone out. He couldn’t help it, his mind was constantly full of things ranging from things that he should worry about, to new stories to tell, to new voices to try out, to new things that needed to keep buried.

Richie was a comedian. He wasn’t there to make you cry or freak out because of the problems in the world. He was simply there to make you laugh. The only time that he could open up would be at his own expense. It was quite literally his job. And he did it well. It made him happy. It felt good to laugh.

But something was missing. And god, he tried to fill it, over and over again. Relationship after relationship, more like split after split. He had even gotten married a few times, but it didn’t last. It never did. They would fill that void for a little while, maybe even a few months, but there it was, back again.

He felt lost. And hey, maybe that was a good thing. Because you can only be found if you’re lost in the first place. He just wished that someone would hurry up and find him.

The driver soon stopped outside of his home, and Richie paid him before walking inside. His new house definitely was different from his childhood home, where that one was small and suffocating, but still full of love, this one was huge and open but too empty, too cold. Home sweet home.

Richie locked the door behind himself not trusting humanity in general enough to leave it unlocked. All he wanted to do right now, was eat. He probably should gotten take out or something but now it was a little too late for that. Which meant leftover Chinese from lunch would have to do.

He dumped the food (which was really just fried rice and a few leftover pieces of of orange chicken) onto a plate and set it in the microwave, before setting it and walking away. 

Richie shivered a little, even though he could have sworn that he turned the heat up. Lately, he always seemed to be cold. Maybe he was sick. Not that it really mattered.

The beeping of the microwave snapped him out of his zones out state and he quickly went to retrieve his piping hot food from it, and set the plate down on the island. 

He looked over at the barstool next to him, like he expected someone to be there, and then was oddly disappointed to find that it was empty, but it rarely ever was filled. Which made the entire ordeal even odder.

“I’ve finally cracked it. The secret to insanity. Fried rice,” Richie mumbled under his breath, maybe he needed to take a break, because he swore that he heard someone laugh.

It was a nice laugh, even though it was quiet, the kind of laugh that you rarely hear, because it was happy, and sad, and alone all at the same time.

Richie’s house was too big, and it was too cold, but he wasn’t alone, not really.

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve been messing around with this idea for a while so here you go! Shout at me on Tumblr @Reddiefordeath


End file.
